


Sharing is Caring

by Raindropsonwhiskers



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bodyswap, Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gender Is Fake, Jodie Whittaker is The Master (Doctor Who), Kissing, Other, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, Sacha Dhawan is the Doctor (Doctor Who), it is late and I am tagging like a madman, pronouns are for nerds, temporarily, they get it sorted out in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26690428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raindropsonwhiskers/pseuds/Raindropsonwhiskers
Summary: After a night of drunken who-knows-what, the Doctor and the Master wake up hungover and grumpy. Oh, and in the wrong bodies. Whoops!
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 66





	Sharing is Caring

**Author's Note:**

> This was languishing in my infinite WIPs folder, and I finally finished it up today because I got bored and didn't want to work on my longfic. So... enjoy!

The Master wakes up bleary-eyed and disorientated, feeling vaguely hungover and very annoyed. He reaches a hand up to drag down his face in a dramatic fashion, and notices two things. One, his hand is much paler than it was when he was knocked out, and two, his stubble is gone. He jolts upright, looks down at his body, and laughs.

Oh, the Doctor is going to hate this.

The Doctor comes to with a groan and the distinct sensation of having been hit in the head with a hammer. After several hundred years of risky decisions, it's a feeling she knows all too well. She pats her hand along her head, searching for the source of the pain, and it takes her far longer than it should have to realize that her hair is shorter than it was when she got knocked out. She glances at herself, and groans.

She's going to kill the Master for this.

After a quick double-check to make sure that she isn't hallucinating, the Master sets about getting herself better clothing.  _ Anything _ would be better than what the Doctor had been wearing, but the Master has Standards; Standards which require a quick trip to a tailor and some mild threatening to meet.

She pays - she's not a  _ monster _ \- and leaves the shop with a nicely fitted suit and a rough plan of finding the Doctor to gloat. This body is so well-suited to smug grins, after all, and it would be a shame to waste it.

But first, perhaps, she could make a few detours. It's not every day that one wakes up in the body of one's best enemy, after all. She might as well take advantage.

At first, the Doctor hopes they're dreaming, or drugged, or anything but actually having swapped bodies with the Master. Unfortunately, they aren't so lucky. Without many other options, the Doctor tries to figure out what happened.

Their memories of the night before are fuzzy at best, but they remember drinking far too much ginger beer in a backwater bar on a backwater planet, accidentally calling the Master, drinking even more, getting sick, and then... a bright light, a deeply unpleasant squishing sensation, and then waking up eight hours later in their TARDIS.

Great. Not very helpful. At least the TARDIS knows that it's them, and politely(read: laughing at them the whole time) undoes the isomorphic locks so that they can get off of said backwater planet.

If they thought the Master had any intention of sticking around, they might have stayed to look for her, but she's probably long gone by now. More than likely off doing something horrible and ruining the Doctor's good name.

One brief planetary conquering later, the Master is murderously bored. This self was hard to entertain before winding up in an even more hyperactive body, and now she's just got endless energy fizzing through her - literally, even - and nothing to do with it. Perhaps she's detoured long enough now; surely the Doctor must be looking for her. They probably want their body back.

With the sort of perfect timing the Master usually has to work to create, one of her assistants comes running into the room, panicked. The natives of this planet are little purple birds with a tendency to shed when upset - which coincidentally provides the Master with a nigh-endless supply of decorative flair for her outfits - so it's easy to tell how worked up this one is by the sheer volume of dropping feathers.

"Your Majesty, someone has arrived planetside," they say, words jumbling over each other in their haste. "A creature like you, in a blue box. You told us to alert you if such a person appeared."

The Master grins, savoring the way this body tends toward baring its teeth when she does so. "And where did this person land?"

It's not hard for the Doctor to locate the Master - they see the towering castle of iridescent black stone and make an educated guess. Even if the castle existed before she arrived, there's no way she wouldn't have claimed it for herself.

It's not a far walk from where the TARDIS landed, but it certainly feels long. Out of every tree peeks a pair of huge black eyes, watching them as they walk and not being terribly subtle about it. At one point, they stop and turn to meet one pair of eyes, and the whole forest goes abruptly silent. As soon as they turn away, the sounds begin again. They don't look at the trees after that.

The castle is predictably ominous and intimidating up close, but the doors are wide open, and the Doctor has never been good at saying no to open doors. Even when they know they're a trap.

Seemingly from nowhere, a purple bird-like creature appears at the Doctor's side. They do their best not to yelp.

"The Master is waiting," the creature announces. "Follow me."

For lack of any better ideas - and because they really do want to locate the Master - the Doctor obliges. The creature leads them to what is obviously a throne room, and seated in the throne is a very familiar body. Wearing very  _ un _ familiar clothing, they note; that deep purple suit is definitely new.

"You know, it's not nice to take people's stuff," the Doctor points out, aiming for reasonable but hitting petty.

"The same could be said to you," the Master remarks. Her stolen lips twist into a grin.

"And I'd just gotten used to the anatomy!" the Doctor continues, not dignifying the Master's words with a reply. "And all the 'madam's and 'lady's. Now I'm going to have to readjust all over again."

The Master looks distinctly unsympathetic, tapping her fingers along the arm of her throne in a staccato set of four beats. The Doctor glowers. This is a good face for glowering, they have to admit. Nearly as impressive a set of eyebrows as when they were Scottish, though the huge, sad eyes slightly diminish the overall effect.

"Do you even know what caused this, or did you just barge in here willy-nilly hoping I would know?" the Master asks. Her tone heavily implies that she knows the answer to be the latter, but she has to confirm.

The Doctor tilts their head. "Don't you? I thought you'd done this on purpose."

"For once, Doctor, I'm innocent."

Before they can stop themselves, the Doctor scoffs. "You've never been innocent in your life."

"Neither have you." The Master flashes a sharp grin. "I am quite fond of that body, though. I got lucky with the eyes, don't you think?"

"I hadn't noticed," the Doctor lies. "Haven't spent much time looking."

With a disdainful glance at the  _ perfectly fine _ suit that they're wearing, the Master drawls, "I can tell."

She stands, moving closer to them with a sharp, nervous energy. "Now, Doctor, you're in luck. I do happen to know what caused this, and I also know how to reverse it. But you're going to have to ask nicely."

Unbidden, memories of the gallery in 1834 flash through the Doctor's mind. If the Master thinks she can pull that again, she's got another thing coming. They raise an eyebrow.

"You don't have anyone to threaten this time," they say. "So, no. I don't think so."

The Master falters for just a moment. She tries to cover it with a smirk. "Really? Don't you want your body back?"

"Hmm, don't know." The Doctor tilts their head. "I do like being the taller one again."

She glares, and the Doctor suppresses a grin. It's so easy to get under the Master's skin this time around. Their height difference may be part of it, but it's the refusal to play along that's really annoying her.

"Come on, Doctor. Just ask," she coaxes, just a little bit desperate. "I'll tell you if you ask."

The Doctor sighs. "Fine. How do we swap back?"

"That wasn't very polite," the Master frowns.

Sighing again, the Doctor spits out a reluctant, bitter, "Please."

"Oh, I don't know." The Master toys idly with the sleeve of her indigo coat. "That sounded awfully insincere-"

In a flash of annoyance and poor decision making skills, the Doctor reaches out, grabs the Master by her stupid coat, and pushes her backwards until she hits the wall. She grins, entirely too smug, and they contemplate some very un-Doctor-y actions.

"Tell me  _ now, _ Master, or I drag you out of here and back to my TARDIS to wait until you do," the Doctor snaps.

"No need to be rude, Doctor," the Master chides. "Fine, I'll tell you. We need to kiss."

"What?" Stunned, the Doctor loosens their grip on the Master's coat, and she slips out of their grasp. After a moment of readjusting her outfit and hair, she continues.

"I'm being serious, Doctor. Whatever it is we did while we were drunk, it's only reversible by physical contact."

"So we just touch hands, nice and quick," the Doctor says.

The Master scronches - the Doctor pushes down a surge of annoyance at seeing  _ their _ facial expression being used by her - and shakes her head. "It's not that easy, I'm afraid. Has to be a kiss. The transfer is easier that way."

"Why?" they protest. "I'm sure between the two of us we can figure out something else."

It's not that they have an issue with kissing, per se. Plenty of their other bodies had enjoyed it, and this self probably would too. But they do have a bit of a moral objection to snogging the person who destroyed their home, even if she  _ is _ making an effort to tone down the evil again.

"You think I haven't thought of every other solution yet?" the Master snaps. She takes a deep breath, runs her hand through her hair, and says softly, "Besides. It can't be that horrible, can it? One kiss?"

Even with a different, stolen face, this incarnation of the Master is unfairly good at looking heartsbreakingly sad. She looks nearly on the verge of tears; her shoulders slumped, her hands shaking just a little, her eyes wide.

The last time they'd- it had been the graveyard, Missy on her knees, and the Doctor had tried so hard to be gentle, to be good. It's been over a century since then, but the Master still looks the same in this moment.

"Okay," the Doctor says. "Let's just- let's just get this over with."

The Master steps closer. Though she looks confident, the Doctor knows her well enough to see the anxiety in her eyes. They gently place one hand on her shoulder and lean in.

For a moment, it's just kissing, just lips on lips and the Master's hands landing hesitantly on their waist. Then  _ something _ happens, and there's a flash of light and sensation and twisting, squeezing and moving and-

"Oh!" both of them exclaim.

Settled back into the right bodies, they draw back from the kiss. The Doctor finds herself with her hands on the Master's waist, and she quickly pulls them away. Neither of them actually move, though.

"Well, that's that sorted," she says. "I should probably go, got to repair my reputation. And I'm sure that you want to do the same."

"Or," he interrupts softly, "you could stay a little while longer, love."

She shouldn't. It's a terrible idea, and there's a thousand reasons not to. But…

"Just a little while."

The Master smiles - the soft one suited to his face, not the sharp grin he'd spread across hers - then leans in for another kiss. She meets him halfway, tangles her fingers into that soft, dark hair.

A flash of light, mixing and pulling and  _ changing _ and-

The Doctor flinches back, glancing down. She's still in  _ her _ body, so what…

There's the distinct feeling of someone else's amusement in her mind, and she looks up, glaring. The Master grins, thoroughly unapologetic.

"I hate you," she complains, pushing him away.

"Not as much as you love me," he counters.

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't argue; it's much easier to press him up against the wall again and kiss him. As far as first things to do now that she's back in her own body, this one is really quite good.


End file.
